Gone for Good
by thefanwhogotfedup
Summary: It's been three years since Phil said his goodbyes. For three years, he's been trying to let go. Dan is dead- he knows that. So then how is it possible that he's back? Title subject to change. T for language.
1. Stumbling Home

A/N: Well _this _is different than my usual word vomit. Hopefully it's a good different. Largely inspired by a fic called 'Resurrected' (which unfortunately has been deleted and I don't know the author ): ), as well as 'Through The Lies Comes Clarity' by xoRosiePosiexo. They're great fics, I'd suggest reading them, though it's not crucial to this story. I wanted the entire fic to be finished by the time I started posting it, but it didn't happen that way. Also, just a note that I'm not ending my series, I just put it on hold for awhile so I could write this chaptered fic. I've got a few ideas I started to work with, so that may be updated very soon after this fic goes up.

Bae101- Yes, I'm still updating the series :) Glad you like it!

Hanna94- Thank you! ^.^ They'll keep coming.

To the Guest reviewer who's review was posted twice, that was my fault. I have the moderate reviews option turned on, so nothing anonymous gets posted until I approve them, and I hadn't logged into the site for a few days so I hadn't seen them. Sorry!

Your feedback means so much to me, like ya'll don't even know lol. Thank you so much! Hope you enjoy this one, too. Contains slight Dan/OC; it's in there but the story isn't based around it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dan and Phil or their YouTube channels.

Dedicated to FrankieRae and LittleLizard13!

* * *

It was Monday. Radio show day. The hour was almost up. Flashing a grin at one of the live-feed cameras, Phil picked up his headphones and put them on.

"That was Maroon 5 with 'Sugar'!" he announced. "That's our show for today, thanks to everyone that called in with their request! But before I go, I've got a surprise for one of our listeners. I checked my twitter this morning and someone sent me a picture of a birthday cake with cat whiskers. I loved it so much, I asked our producer if I could call her and wish her a happy birthday." Behind the desk, Phil's boss gave him a thumbs-up. "And she said yes! So here we go." The background music faded out, replaced by the dial tone of a phone. There was a click as someone picked up.

"Hello?" a young woman chirped. Phil leaned closer to the microphone.

"Is this Mary?"

"Uh, yes? Who is this?"

"This is AmazingPhil from Radio 1-"

"Ohmygod!" she squealed, thankfully _away_ from the phone. Phil grinned.

"I heard today was your birthday so I wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday!"

"Thank you! Oh my god, I can't believe it, this is the best thing ever!"

"You're welcome! I loved the picture you tweeted me, who made your cake?"  
"My best friend Alice did- oh, she loves your videos! She's a fan too."

"That's so nice of her. Tell her she has amazing cake-decorating skills."

"I will, oh my gosh this is the best birthday ever. Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome." Phil was about to say goodbye and hang up, when she spoke again.

"Can I ask a quick question?"  
"Sure."

"When will Dan be back?"

That was when everything changed. Every face in the room turned to him, etched with sympathy. Phil didn't miss a beat. _Not here_.

"I don't know, probably when he's past his existential crisis."

"Oh, okay. We really miss him."

"I know, I do too." _So much. Every day_. "Well Mary, happy birthday, and thank you so much for talking to us."

"Thanks! Bye!" She hung up. The audio segment introducing the next presenter played, and Phil hung up his headphones. The lights that indicated the cameras were rolling went out. Just as he did every day, Phil pocketed his phone and grabbed his coat on his way out the door. Out the corner of his eye he saw his producer start toward him.

"Phil…" Phil didn't turn around. He knew if he did he'd see that look in her eyes, that look of total pity he was so sick of seeing. She didn't finish her sentence, but he could hear what she wasn't saying loud and clear.

"See you Monday!" he called, the cheery tone forced. No one stopped him. He'd only just stepped outside the radio station when his phone vibrated, alerting him to a text.  
_Are you okay m8? -Chris_  
_Yep! Never better :) -Phil_  
_Cause we could hang out tonight if you want. Watch a movie or something. -Chris_

Phil shoved his phone into his pocket. He was tired. He didn't feel like hanging out.

Somehow he made it home, despite the fact that he wasn't really paying attention to where he was going. Phil bumped the door shut behind him with his foot.

"They want to know when you'll be back on the radio," he called out, taking the stairs two at a time. "They miss you. We should do a video, you know, and tell them-" His voice broke. Silence answered him, the reality crushing him like spider under someone's shoe. _Deep breath_. _It's okay_. Phil swallowed, forcing away the tears.

Even after all this time, it still got to him, it could still hurt as bad as the day it had all ended.

In hindsight, he should've seen it sooner. Dan had never been one to go out drinking every night, but suddenly he was coming home smelling of scotch at the break of dawn. While normally he'd spend his days at home on the Internet, he'd always make time for his friends and family. Then suddenly it was just Phil hanging out with Chris and PJ. And then just Phil booking a flight to America for Playlist Live. That had been the moment Phil had become worried, had finally caught on. Dan loved YouTube. And now he missed an event?  
They'd talked when he'd gotten back, but that conversation hadn't gone as well as Phil had hoped. He could still hear the way Dan's voice trembled, could still see the desperate panic in his chocolate eyes.  
"It's my life! If I don't want to do it, I don't have to!"  
"I know, and that's okay. But why?" Phil pressed gently. Dan was pacing, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his jeans.  
"I just didn't feel like it." he replied shortly.  
"Why not? You've never had a problem with it before. What changed?" Dan froze. There was something wrong, Phil could sense it. There was something Dan was keeping from him. "You can tell me."  
"Nothing," Dan spat. "There's nothing to tell." His sharp tone cut Phil deeply, but he tried to stay calm, trying not to show it. Dan needed him to be strong right now.  
"I'm worried about you." Dan turned on him, brown eyes hot with fury.  
"Piss off, Phil!" He shouted. "God damn it! Leave me the fuck alone!"  
He remembered they were both shouting then. A fight that ended in slamming bedroom doors and, for Phil, a night of crying muffled by his pillow. The following day they'd avoided each other. And that night? Well...  
He'd wanted to apologize. For pushing him, for shouting at him, for the one time he swore back at him. When he got Dan's text to meet him, Phil had thought that's what Dan had wanted, too. The moment he'd turned the corner, he should've known. It was dark, even with the light from the streetlamps and passing cars. The glare of the screen left him seeing a large dark spot after he'd checked to see who was calling him. One of the lampposts seemed to have gone out, a long shadowy figure on the ledge of the bridge.

"Dan, I-"

"Are you almost here?"

"Yeah, I just got here. Where are you?"  
"Stop." Phil frowned, but obeyed, standing still near the end of the bridge.

"What's going on?" Dan's breathing hitched.  
"I'm sorry Phil, god I'm so sorry." He was crying.  
"What's happened? Dan? Where are you?"  
"On the bridge."  
"But I don't see-" That wasn't a lamppost. _Oh god_. "Stop. Get down."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Don't-" He hung up. Phil was running now, ignoring the people screaming around him. He was shouting at Dan, begging him not to do it, not to go. It hadn't made a difference.  
His throat was raw by the time the police had managed to drag him away from the bridge. Everything after that moment was a blur. Where had he slept that night? Had he gone home, or had he stayed with PJ? Had he slept at all?  
The only thing he remembered clearly was the funeral. Close friends and family only- none of the fans knew. Everyone had been somber and withdrawn, but Phil had been despondent, staring off into space and barely responding to anyone. He hadn't cried then, if only because he hadn't stopped until that morning.

Phil didn't remember the service; he remembered kneeling in front of a headstone. Remembered everyone laying a single rose on the lid of the dark coffin, empty because the body was never found. Remembered not wanting to go home to an empty flat. Not wanting to make a video for a month. Collaborating with friends to make up a story about how Dan just needed some time off, from YouTube and Radio 1 and everything else, so they didn't have to tell the fans the truth.

They still didn't know. At first it had been to give those who had known Dan personally some time to grieve before telling everyone else, but now it was a story everyone told and no one questioned.  
Well, almost no one. There were always fans that questioned their excuses. Or who didn't know. It wasn't their fault. They didn't know Dan was dead, that Phil hated hearing his name, hated watching his videos, and that above everything else he hated pretending. He pretended on the radio and on twitter and Facebook and even his YouNow shows that Dan was just in the other room, or that he'd gone out. That Dan was coming home.  
Something broke inside him, shattering like the mug he threw across the room, smashing into a wall. Shards of memories cutting like blades, and he only wished he could bleed, bleed out and die, because maybe then he could see Dan again, or at least stop this pain.

But there was nothing he could do. Maybe there never had been. Dan was dead, and Phil was left to pick up the pieces alone.

* * *

He was never touching red wine again.  
True, this was a promise he'd made before, but he meant it this time. A low groan escaped him as he slowly picked himself up off the ground. Everything hurt, like he'd been slammed into a wall. Or hit by a lorry. The young man took slow steps toward the light, needing to lean against the garbage bins for support. Once in the light of a streetlamp, he looked around, trying to make out where he was.  
His head was spinning. He could make out the street name, recognizing it to be in a part of London known for its crime. What the heck was he doing here? The young man went to search his pocket for his phone, but found it missing, as well as his wallet. Had he been mugged? Was that why he was here?  
"Fuck my life," he mumbled.  
Dan Howell slowly made his way along the street. Moving helped to clear his head, but did nothing for his aching muscles. It was a long walk home. Upon reaching the flat, he realized with a stab of annoyance that he didn't have his key, either. Thankfully the spare was still tapped to the top of the doorframe, safe there because he and Phil were so offensively tall they were the only ones who knew it was there.  
Since he had no idea what time it was, Dan was careful not to make any noise, lest he wake Phil. Since all the lights were off, he assumed his flatmate was asleep, which was odd. The clock on the microwave told him it was only two in the morning. He and Phil stayed up pretty late most nights, unless they had something they needed to do early the next day. Did they? Dan didn't know.

He pushed open the door to his room, intent on sleeping for the rest of his life, but something stopped him. Dan vaguely noticed something was off, though he couldn't say exactly what. An aura of dread hung thick in the air, as if he were unwelcome in his own bedroom. He paused next to his bed, squinting his eyes in the dark. Had he left his room this messy before? His personal belongings and clothes were scattered about the room. Dan wasn't normally a very messy person, but his bedroom tended to get a bit disorganized. He couldn't remember if he'd left it in this state, though. Why was his head so fuzzy?  
Writing it off as a hangover, Dan collapsed onto his bed, oblivious and dead to the world.


	2. Day 1 Part 1

Phil woke up with a crick in his neck and his arms tangled in Dan's old uni hoodie. He'd also fallen asleep with his contacts in. Despite this he was in a good mood. He'd had a dream that night, that Dan had come stumbling in at some odd hour of the morning. That dream always left him feeling happy, possibly because it was the closest chance he had at that reality. He even thought he heard some of the sleep noises Dan used to make as he fumbled into the bathroom like a mole under a sun lamp.

After sorting out his poor eyes and donning his glasses, Phil went downstairs. The mug he'd thrown the night before was still laying in a pile of broken glass, so with a sigh he set about cleaning it up. It was earlier than he needed to be awake, but this was his new normal. The earlier he got up, the better his chance of falling asleep that night.

"Dan, coffee." Phil called out of habit.

"Ta." He froze. For a second his heart leapt, and he nearly believed he'd actually heard Dan's voice. That everything was okay. He was losing it.

It had happened before. Phil had shut himself up in his flat, stopped going out or doing anything with friends, and the hallucinations had started. He'd hear Dan pacing in his bedroom, or his voice occasionally. Or he'd walk past his room and he would swear he'd see him sitting on his bed with his laptop. Or that he could hear him talking just downstairs. The counselor PJ had taken him to had explained that the grief was getting to him, and that he needed to get out again. Chris had started having he and PJ over twice a week after that, either for games or movies or just plain sitting around on the Internet. The hallucinations went away, and everything went back to the new-normal.

That was probably all it was. He was just getting a little stir-crazy. Maybe he should've hung out with them last night. Phil shrugged it off- he could always have them over today.

Phil had just gotten a mug of coffee and had turned his back on the door when it swung open again.

"It's not instant is it?"

"No it's fresh." Phil replied automatically.

Then he froze.

"Good, that shit's gross." Phil stared as a tall, tan, young man pulled a mug out of his cupboard.

He snapped out of his daze.

Dan had just raised his mug to his lips when something smacked him upside his jaw.

"Bloody fuck!" He yelped as the hot coffee sloshed over the cup and onto him, seeping through his clothes instantly. He backpedaled as Phil swung the frying pan again, missing him by a mile. "Phil!" The pan swung past his ear. He dropped the coffee mug in favor of protecting his face.

"Who are you!" Phil shouted. "What are you doing in my house!" The pan caught Dan in the chest.

"What the- It's-"

"Get back!"

"Phil! PHIL!" Dan shouted, grabbing the handle of the frying pan. "It's _me_ damn it!" Phil froze, if possible going even more pale than he already was.

"...Dan?" he whispered. Dan nodded.

"Yeah." Phil stepped back, staring at his best friend. Dan let go of the pan. Phil let it drop to the floor, chipping the tile and not giving a crap. Dan glared at his flatmate, who was just stood there, staring at him, as if they hadn't been in the same room just yesterday.

…Hadn't they been?

"How...how..." Phil mumbled. Dan felt uneasy. Something didn't feel right. There was something very wrong here- he just didn't know what.

"Phil? Are you alright?" Dan asked gently. He reached out to touch his forehead. "Are you ill?" Phil flinched away from him.

"You're not real!" he shrieked, hands fumbling for the mobile in his pocket. "Oh god, you're not real, this isn't real. Oh god."

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm real, what the hell Phil?" Dan gingerly rubbed his smarting jaw. That was definitely going to bruise. Phil had his phone pressed against his ear, and was staring at Dan warily. His knuckles were white. Dan took a step back, edging toward the door. Phil grabbed the pan again.

"Oh no!" He moved to block the door. "You're not going anywhere!"

"Are you mad?" Dan snapped. "Jesus Phil, what's- Hey!" Phil hastily pulled open the pantry door before shoving Dan inside. The door slammed shut behind him. "Let me out!" Dan demanded, shoving against it with his shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. Finally, someone picked up the phone.

"Hey."

"PJ!" Phil all but shouted into the phone.

"_Christ_\- hello to you too."

"Peej you have to come over."

"What? Why? Are you alright?"

"Yes- I mean, no. I don't know!"

"Take it easy mate. What's happened?"

"It's Dan!" He could hear the concern in PJ's voice turn to pity.

"Phil...we've talked about this. I know it's hard but it's been three years. You need to try and let go."

"No, that's not- he's here! In the flat!"

"Who?"

"Dan!" Dan banged on the pantry door, and was shouting to be let out, and what the heck was going on? "He's here!"

"Phil that's not possible." Now he sounded worried. "Listen to me. I'll be there soon, but don't do anything, alright? Don't leave, don't go anywhere. Stay on the phone with me okay?"

"O-okay." So he did. PJ kept him on the phone until he got to the underground.

"I'm getting on in a minute, so I've got to hang up. Don't leave the flat, okay?"

"I won't." Phil promised quietly.

"Don't do anything 'till I get there."

"I _won't_. Just hurry PJ!"

"Okay." PJ hung up.

"You're getting him all worked up for nothing." Dan pointed out on the other side of the door.

"I'm not listening. You're not real." Phil mumbled, speaking mostly to himself. Dan gave up, letting his head thump against the door.

"Fine. I'm not real. Ask PJ if I'm not fucking real, see how that goes."

"You're not there."

"Of course I'm bloody not, silly me."

"You're dead." That got his attention. Dan felt his blood run cold. It should sound ridiculous and laughable, because he was very much _alive_, thank you. His throbbing jaw gave sound testimony to that. But there was a ring of truth to it that chilled him to the bone.

He didn't say another word until he heard PJ's voice. Phil never moved from the door, which meant PJ let himself in, which meant he either had a key or knew about the spare. _When did we tell him?_ Dan pressed his ear to the door. He could barely hear PJ, but Phil's voice was clear as day.

"He's here. I shoved him in here." Pause. "I don't know! I was just getting coffee and-" More muffled voice. "Am I crazy?"

The door opened, and there was PJ, looking worse for wear and staring at him, slack-jawed and unnaturally pale. Dan stood up slowly, not wanting to scare him like he had Phil.

This wasn't a joke. Something was seriously wrong here. Phil had truly believed he was dead, and if his trembling was anything to go by, so had PJ. He licked his lips, and tried to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again.

"D-...Dan? Is it really...you're really here?" Dan nodded slowly, holding back the sarcasm.

"Yeah. It's me."

"But you're...you died. How is this possible?"

"I didn't die. I don't know what you're on about, we went to Prague like last week, what the heck happened?" PJ continued to stare at him. Something changed in his eyes, shock giving way to something rarely seen from him. Anger. Dan didn't have time to dodge the right hook PJ threw.

"How could you do this?!" he screamed. "Do you have _any _idea what you put us through?! We had to plan your _funeral _you asshole!"

"I'm not dead!" Dan shouted back, more out of desperation than anything else as he tried to protect himself from another punch.

"I can fucking see that!"

"Well sorry to disappoint!"

"I can't believe you!"  
"Why is everyone hitting me?!" PJ paused, frowning thoughtfully.

"What happened to your face?" Dan gestured at Phil, still holding the frying pan. "Good for you."

"You see him. You can see him too right?" Phil asked quietly. PJ nodded.

"I see him. He's really here." Slowly, Phil set aside the frying pan, staring at Dan with wide eyes. Dan shifted from one foot to the other, looking back at his friends at a loss for words.

"You really thought…?" Phil looked away, moving his unblinking stare to the wall.

"Of course we did. Everyone does." PJ whispered. Dan swallowed.

"How did I die?" His friends- if he could still call them that- tensed. PJ looked at Phil, as if asking permission for something. Phil nodded, the movement so small Dan would've seen it if he hasn't been looking. PJ looked back at Dan, his eyes beginning to well up.

"Dan…you killed yourself."


	3. Day 1 Part 2

A/N: I'm gonna screw this up if I keep updating this fast.

Already Broken: I'm hoping I didn't actually offend you XD Yeah this fic is different from what I usually do and I'm hoping all the twists I planned work as intended(judging by your reaction they have so far), and I also hope you enjoy the ride. (That didn't sound sexual nope wat)

Also the medical/legal stuff in this chapter is probably totally off, I'm sorry.

* * *

They went to the police. There wasn't anything else they could do. Dan was legally dead. But he wasn't actually. So...police.

And so began the nightmare. At first no one wanted to talk to them, dismissing them as jokers. But then someone recognized the name 'Daniel Howell' from the obituaries way back. That was when they met Officer Warren. The first question he'd asked had been whether or not Dan knew it was against federal law to fake one's own death.

"I didn't- I don't- no?" The man didn't look convinced. He turned to address the other YouTubers.

"And the two of you knew Mr. Howell?"

"Yes sir." PJ answered. "We were close." Phil just nodded. The cop gestured to Dan.

"And you're convinced this is the same man?"

"Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but-"

"Mr. Ligori, was there a funeral for Mr. Howell?"

"Yes sir."

"So you saw the body then."

"No sir. There, uh...there was no body." The man turned to Dan, sizing him up.

"Then it's entirely possible. If you'll excuse me a moment." He left them in his office, a suffocating silence falling over the three. Dan stood up and began pacing.

"That's just great, first I'm supposed to be dead and now I could go to prison," he muttered. PJ opened his mouth, perhaps to offer a consoling thought, but changed his mind. What could he say? That this was just a misunderstanding, and that they would all go home and forget about it? Not likely.

"You don't remember anything? At all?" he asked instead. Dan shook his head.

"Nothing. The last thing I remember is going to get milk from the shop. And then waking up in a fucking alley."

"But not how you got there."

"No." Dan swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking. He was missing three years of memories. How could someone forget that much of their life? He still remembered who he was, and his life from before he...jumped. But obviously he was missing pieces from that as well, because why the hell would he want to die?

The door opened again, and Officer Warren reappeared. He nodded at the chair Dan had vacated.

"Mr. Howell, if you would take a seat, there are some questions I'd like to ask you." Dan glanced at his friends.

"Can they stay?" The officer shrugged.

"For now." Dan sat down. "Mr. Howell, what do you remember about the night you killed yourself?"

"Nothing. I don't remember it at all."

"Have you ever struggled with depression?"

"Uh, no. I mean, not clinical depression."

"So you mean you were never diagnosed."

"Uh, yeah?" He scribbled something down on a notepad, then glanced at Phil.

"Are you alright son?" Phil jumped, startled out of his thoughts.

"Me? Yeah, I'm, I'm okay."

"You said that you live with Mr. Howell, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"What do you remember about that night?" PJ bristled.

"I don't think-"

"It's okay." Phil interrupted him, giving his friend a small smile. To the officer, he said, "I don't think he was depressed, but he wasn't acting like himself."

"How so?" Phil picked at a ragged fingernail, ignoring the way Dan gawked at him.

"He wasn't home much. He was drinking a lot. He just seemed kind of stressed about something." Now he made eye contact, if only for a second. "I don't know what." Dan's stomach pitched.

"Mr. Howell, do you often drink?"

"Well, not all the time, but when I'm around friends yeah." And so it continued. Officer Warren seemed to have an endless list. Had Dan wanted to drink since he'd come home? Did he have any strange or unusual markings on his body that he couldn't account for? Had he made any new friends, either before the suicide or within the last twenty-four hours? How long they were there, Dan didn't know for sure, but it felt like ages.

"Mr. Howell, what is it that you do for a living?"

"I make videos and put them on the Internet." This got a raised eyebrow by way of answer.

"Who do you work for?"

"It's a YouTube thing. I get paid by YouTube."

"Is it a very lucrative career, or do you have money problems?"

"We're not rich, but we get by." The Officer leaned back in his chair, studying him closely.

"Were you having any sort of financial problems prior to your suicide?" Dan opened his mouth to say no, but stopped.

"Um...well, there were a couple of checks that bounced. But I paid it off." He made a sort of humming noise as he took another note, then closed his notepad. Pressed a button in his desk.

"April, please ask Officer Martin to come to my office. I want him to escort Mr. Howell to the hospital."

"I'm on it," came a static voice with a Northern accent.

"Wait, why?" Dan asked. Before he could get an answer, the door opened once more and two officers stepped inside.

"Where are they taking him?" Phil asked, his voice rising in panic. PJ put a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. The officer scribbled something down on the paper.

"Hospital, to get some DNA samples. If this is really Daniel J. Howell, then he'll match the records. Before he leaves I want prints." This he directed at the other men. Phil pulled away from PJ.

"I want to go with him." Officer Warren exchanged a look with PJ.

"Are you family?"

"No, but we live together. Or, we used to. It counts." The officer seemed to mull it over, but finally he nodded.

"Call me when you get home." PJ said. Phil nodded, and then they left.

"Thanks for coming with me," Dan mumbled as they were led to another part of the station. Phil said nothing, and when Dan turned to look at him he was surprised to see his best friend glaring daggers at him. He didn't try to talk to Phil after that, not until they got to the hospital.

Dan wasn't used to Phil being quiet. This wasn't just quiet- there was a poorly concealed fury in his eyes. His jaw was clenched, his entire body rigid. He'd never seen Phil act this way before. Dan shifted the bag of ice he was holding(a nurse had noticed the large black and blue bruise he was sporting), hesitant to speak. What could he even say?

"I'm sorry." _How fucking profound_.

"You're sorry? You do something like this and you think 'sorry' is going to fix it?" Phil scoffed. Dan rolled his eyes, the stress making him suddenly cross.

"What do you want me to say, Phil? Everyone thinks I died, that I committed _suicide_, and I can't remember the last three years of my fucking life. I don't know whats going on, and I'm _sorry_, okay?"

"No." Phil's voice was hollow. When he finally looked at Dan, his eyes were cold and unfeeling. "It's not okay." Phil stood up, and then he left, abandoning Dan in the empty hospital corridor. He didn't even look back.

* * *

Seeing his patents was the hardest part.

In his mind, Dan had been prepared to have to prove it was really him, that he'd need to dig up some vague family memory or something. But his mother knew him right away. One minute they were standing in the door, confused as to why they'd been called in. And then they saw him, and they were hugging him and crying and Dan finally had to accept the terrifying truth.

He'd been gone for three years, apparently dead, and he didn't remember a damn thing.

The doctor that had seen him had explained that he had amnesia, and that the x-rays they'd taken had shown that part of Dan's brain had swollen. His injuries indicated blunt force trauma, and the frying pan had been ruled out as the source of it.

Dan felt like he was watching all of this happen to someone else, like a crap lifetime movie or a terrible fanfiction. This didn't happen in real life. Amnesia cases like this were extremely rare. This had to be a bad dream. If only he could wake up.

When they finally released him late that night, he went home. His parents lived in a one-bedroom house now, and didn't have room for him. That aside, the doctor that the police had consulted had told Dan that he had a better chance at recovering his memories if he surrounded himself by things he was familiar with.

He was familiar with the London flat he shared with his best friend Phil. He knew it like the back of his hand. It was home. But the second he walked in the door, Dan was overcome with a sense of distance he'd never felt before. He paused just inside, leaning against the door. Something felt...off. Just like last night, when he'd come home. Something felt so inexplicably wrong about being in this flat, like he didn't belong here. He didn't feel welcome. He couldn't shake it.

Phil did nothing to help, either. Dan had seen him upset before, but this was different. When he went into the lounge, Phil was sat on the couch on his laptop. His hands froze over the keyboard, just for a moment, and then resumed whatever he'd been doing. That was all the acknowledgement he got.

"Hashtag awkward." Dan mumbled. Phil didn't respond. Dan didn't know what to do or say. Phil had never outright ignored him before. They _never_ gave each other the silent treatment. _But haven't you been doing it for three years?_ a voice in his head spoke up. _You weren't dead. But you let them think you were_. He deserved this, to be ignored. Phil was right. 'Sorry' couldn't fix this.

Not knowing what else to do, Dan shuffled off to his bedroom. He was tired of this horrible day he'd been having, and his head hurt from trying to figure out all the things he didn't know. He wanted to actually remember something, something good. He thought of the shoebox hidden under his bed, and felt a smile tug at his lips.

Phil didn't know about it, but Dan had what he thought of as his memory box. After they'd moved from Manchester, he'd begun to get homesick. The box had been from a pair of shoes he'd bought, just sitting on the bed he'd just put together. Dan had picked a few things out of his room that reminded him of the home he'd left behind, pictures of his family, little trinkets he'd gotten from fans or had bought with Phil. He'd never been overly sentimental, but it had helped. Dan no longer felt homesick, but continued to add to the box as the years passed.

Shutting his door behind him, Dan reached under the bed with his foot and pulled the box out. An alarming pile of dust bunnies accompanied it, and he realized that his bedroom hadn't been inhabited _or_ cleaned in three years. The thought of finding a spider's nest briefly crossed his mind, but he brushed the thought away. He could be paranoid later. He pulled the lid off the box, wanting to forget all of this mess, just for a little while.

Instantly he knew something was wrong. The things inside had been shuffled around, put back in an order he didn't remember. It made him uneasy. Jammed in between the edge of the shoebox and a mint box full of movie ticket stubs was a wad of crinkled paper he didn't recognize. Frowning, he pulled them out and smoothed them flat.

They were pictures of his friends. Phil, PJ, Chris, Carrie, Louise, Ben. One of his parents. Dan had been fostering an interest in photography for several years, so the pictures in themselves wouldn't have been all that startling to find, but for several small details. One, he didn't remember taking them. Two, they were printed on regular paper, not the glossy kind he used when he printed any of his own pictures, which was rare. And he never printed pictures that turned out like these had, low res, grainy, out of focus shots. Three, whenever he took pictures of someone, they were aware of the camera, aware of him. These pictures were different.

People he knew, doing ordinary things. Louise dropping her daughter off at school. Ben walking down the pavement looking at his phone. PJ buying craft supplies. Phil leaving the radio station.

There was something eerie about them. Had he taken them? If he had, then why? Why had he printed them? And why were they in his box, instead of with his other pictures? The folder was in his closet somewhere-

_The front swung open, coupled with a friendly shout of "I'm back!". Phil was home. Dan ran upstairs to his room, clutching the pictures in his hands. He had to hide them. Phil couldn't see them. But where would he put them?_

_His box. Phil would never look inside that. Dan shoved them into the box, kicking it under his bed seconds before Phil poked his head through the door._

_"Hungry? I've got Tesco." He held up the bag._

Dan blinked as the memory faded, and realized he was kneeling on his floor. His heart was still pounding. Why had he been so afraid of Phil seeing the pictures? Being shy about his photography was one thing, but in that moment he'd been genuinely scared. _Of what? Phil?_

The brunette groaned as his head began to throb. The first thing he remembered, and it left him with more questions. Dan put the box away, an ugly feeling in his gut. He was afraid. He just wanted to know what had happened. Crawling under his duvet, he closed his eyes, intent on shutting out the world. _What have I done?_


	4. Day 2

A/N: It didn't occur to me until I started this chapter that I should probably list this story under 'angst' as well. Oops.

Already Broken: *hands you care package* Thank you for coming back, sorry I broke you ;(

* * *

Dan had thought that there could be nothing worse than getting the silent treatment from Phil. Simply put, he was wrong.

"You left the cabinets open!"

"So what, you can bloody deal with it!"

They'd been at it all day. For some reason he'd yet to explain, Phil had gone from night owl to early bird, and had insisted that Dan get on the same sleep schedule. Which meant that at the ungodly hour of six a.m, Dan was rudely woken by Phil's incessant banging on his door. Coupled with the fact that he'd fallen asleep in his skinny jeans, it was hardly surprising that Dan had been in a bit of a sour mood all day.

Now he couldn't remember what had started it, exactly, only that they'd somehow gotten into an argument, which had progressed into a shouting match. It only ended after their neighbor downstairs- the one who was normally on the other end of such matters, albeit under different circumstances- banged loudly on his ceiling.

"Whatever," Dan spat, "I'm leaving." He stormed out of the flat, but not before he heard Phil mutter,

"Why am I not surprised, you're taking the easy way out." He made sure to slam the door as hard as he could.

An hour later found him walking aimlessly through the streets of London, with little else to do but window shop. His wallet and phone hadn't been at home, so they were still missing. He didn't have any money on him other than what was in his pocket or even tumblr to occupy his time.

He glanced up and saw the Starbucks he and Phil used to frequent, back when they first moved to London. He hadn't realized he'd been walking this long. Dan shrugged to himself. _Why not?_

Just as he was about to pull open the door, an image flashed before his eyes.

_Starbucks across the street, a line of people trailing out the door. He went to stand up, and bumped into something. Spilled coffee, an angry voice hissing,_

_"Shit!" He looked up, only to be met with the most vivid green eyes he'd ever seen._

Dan blinked, coming back to reality._ Again?_ he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair to fix his fringe. _Why does that keep happening?_ Dan turned around, eyes roaming the street. Across the way there was a little cafe he'd never noticed before, and from what he could see it seemed empty. Was that where he'd been? Or was he just so desperate to remember something that he was making this up in his mind?

Casting one last glance at Starbucks, he crossed the street.

As soon as he stepped inside, he knew he'd been here before. It was familiar. Without even looking at the menu he knew what was listed, knew that he preferred the table in the far corner of the cafe, and that he usually sat with his back to the rest of the shop. He knew this place, and at the same time couldn't remember ever coming here before, other than that random snatch of a memory.

"Can I help you sweetie?" the barista behind the counter asked. Dan shook his head.

"No, thanks." He left. Suddenly he didn't feel much like coffee. A car horn sounded, and he looked up in the direction of the noise.

Out the corner of his eye he saw something, a flash of movement. _Don't turn around, keep walking. Find a busy street_. How he knew to do this, he didn't have a clue, and for the moment he didn't question it. Dan walked away from the cafe, careful to stick to more populated streets. After a few minutes he casually glanced over his shoulder.

It happened again. Someone ducking out of his line of vision.

Someone was following him.

Dan felt his heart begin to beat faster, adrenaline flooding his veins. He knew not to run. His mind was buzzing with things he'd never thought about before, such as his height and the colors he wore. A lot of people were wearing black. He was taller, he stood out. Solution? Sit down. Turning another corner Dan quickly hopped the low fence separating the outdoor seating area of a restaurant from the street, sitting down at a table unnoticed. He waited.

He hadn't gotten a good look at whoever was tailing him, but as time passed he felt the anxiety leave his body and knew he was safe.

"The fuck was that about?" He mumbled to himself. He wondered if he should call Officer Warren and tell him about all of it, the flashbacks and the guy that had followed him. The policeman _had_ said to call if he remembered anything. But at the same time, was there even much to tell him? Sure, he had a couple memories, but they didn't really help anything. And what if telling the police about his pictures got him in worse trouble? Dan sighed, leaning his forehead against his hands. No. He wouldn't tell the police, not unless he remembered something useful. _That guy probably wasn't even following me. I'm just paranoid_.

Even so, he waited awhile before he left for home.

Since he and Phil didn't drive anywhere, they walked a lot. They were very familiar with the area around their flat. That wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Still, as Dan began to cross a street, something seemed to leap out at him, much like the cafe had. He paused, studying a warehouse not far away.

There was something about that place, something important. He was getting that feeling again. It was strange, like trying to recall a dream that he knew he'd had, but the harder he tried to remember it, the more vague it became.

Huffing a sigh, Dan turned around and continued on his way. He wanted nothing more than to waste the evening on his laptop, and damn it, that was what he was going to do. Enough of this business.

* * *

If Dan had been hoping for a peaceful evening, he was going to be disappointed. He'd barely been back for three minutes when he heard the door slam open behind him.

"Dan?!" Phil called out, voice high with worry. "Are you here?"

"Yeah, I just got in," Dan said hesitantly, walking back into the lounge. He met Phil's frantic gaze just as he raised his phone to his ear again.

"No, he's home. Sorry Chris, I just..." he trailed off. Nodded his head. "Yeah. Ok. Thanks." Hung up. Dan frowned.

"Everything okay?" Phil turned back to him, and for a split second he looked relieved.

And then pissed.

"Where the _fuck_ were you?" Dan's jaw dropped at Phil's swearing.

"Uh...I just went for a walk."

"For five hours?!"

"Obviously."

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Dan glared back at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you have any idea-" he stopped. Turning away from Dan, Phil ran his hands through his hair, tugging fiercely. "Never mind. Forget it." His voice dropped to a whisper.

"No. What were you going to say?"

"Dan, just drop it."

"I'm not going to."

"I don't-"

"Just tell me-"

"I thought I lost you again!" Phil finally shouted. Even though he was glaring at him Dan could see the pain he was trying to hide. The fear. Dan felt the guilt resurface. _I did this_.

"But you didn't," he said softly. Phil laughed, a short, loud sound that made Dan jump. The older man shook his head.

"Even after all of this. After all the shit you put me through, why do I still care?" he asked no one in particular. _Why do you?_ Dan thought.

"Because you're my best friend," he offered quietly. Phil swallowed.

"Was I? If I was your best friend, why couldn't you trust me? Why did you lie to me, if we're such good friends?" Dan frowned.

"I'm not lying, I just went-" Phil spun around, suddenly very close to Dan's face.

"Yes you did, you lied to me! You told me nothing was wrong, but that wasn't true, was it?" He didn't mean today, Dan realized.

"I don't even remember the conversation!" Dan sputtered.

"I don't care if you don't remember- _I_ do! You shouted at me, you swore at me, said I was getting too involved in your life, and then you go and off yourself!"

"I-"

"And now you're back, like nothing ever happened, and it's not supposed to matter how _bad_ it hurt," Phil's voice broke. He turned away from his flatmate, rubbing at his eyes.

Dan felt sick. The pieces were staring to come together in his head. The way Phil had acted when he'd trapped Dan in the pantry. The reason Phil had called PJ when he'd freaked out, the way PJ had reacted when he'd first heard- Phil hadn't taken his supposed 'death' well at all. Dan had known it must've been hard on Phil, but now the evidence was right in front of him. It hadn't just been hard, it had broken him. He was _still_ broken.

"It's like I'm supposed to forget it happened." Phil spoke up, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Everyone else is so glad you're back, they don't care. They can let it go. I'm trying Dan, I swear I am, but it hurts..." Dan felt something slide down his cheek and realized he was crying, too. This was his fault. Even if he didn't remember why he'd done it, he couldn't hide from the fact he'd faked his own death, and had left everyone he cared about to pick up the pieces. Apparently he hadn't cared about how it would've affected them. Not even Phil.

"I'm sorry." The words themselves were useless, he knew, but he had to say something. "I'm so sorry, for everything. I fucked up, and I know I can't fix it." Phil looked up at Dan through his fringe, blue-green eyes shining with unshed tears, and Dan felt his heart break. How could he do this? How could he ever, reasons be damned, do this to Phil? "Please don't hate me," he begged.

Time seemed to stop. The two men stood, frozen, the air thick with their regret and pain.

"I could never hate you."

Dan couldn't remember who moved first, but suddenly they were hanging onto each other for dear life, both of them crying.

Yeah, maybe they weren't fixed yet. They had a long way to go. Dan knew that. But right now all that mattered was that Phil was here, in his arms, and he felt like he'd finally come home.

* * *

_**A/N: ...I'm officially Phan trash.**_

_**Read and review, it makes me try harder!**_


	5. Day 3

A/N: Yeah I ripped off the last Sims video in this chapter, it was just convenient. Sorry this update took so long, I nearly lost my house and I was out of town for a few days AND got sick, so I have reasons.  
To 'Guest' and Already Broken: Thank you so much for your reviews! I've been checking this story's stats every time I log in, and I'm so excited about how well it's done so far :)  
LittleLizard13 and FrankieRae: Thanks guys! :D Your support means so much to me!  
Also, to anyone following this fic anonymously, if you could drop a quick note in a review, even just something like 'I like it' or 'where's the secks' I'd appreciate it. A little review goes a long way. *ahem* right, sorry, I'll stop begging.  
Sorry about the sporadic line breaks, this chapter didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. (Oh god it's even shorter than I thought ugh)

* * *

_His arms were pinned behind his back. Someone was holding him in a vice-like grip, his struggling doing nothing whatsoever. In front of him were more men, standing around someone slumped over in a chair. Dan recognized him, piercing green eyes bright and almost feral._

_"Where is it?" One of them snarled. Green Eyes tilted his head back, a defiant leer twisting his split lip. Blood, new and dried, trailed down his face and stained his shirt. He said nothing._

_"Maybe you didn't hear me." Dan felt someone grab him by his hair, yanking him off his knees and dragging him out of the shadows. Green Eyes' smirk disappeared._

_"Leave him alone," he demanded. Dan set his jaw, ignoring the painful pressure on his scalp. Something cold touched the flesh of his throat. **Knife**, he thought at the same time Green Eyes lunged at the man. "Let him go!" The other men held him back._

_"Give me what I want!"_

_"I don't have it."_

_"You're lying!"_

_"I don't have it, I never-" the man drew his fist back and then Dan saw stars. "Don't touch him!" The man holding Dan loosened his grip, just for a second, and Dan tore away from them. Stumbling blindly he found himself backed up against a wall. Something solid connected with his stomach, making him double over in pain. His shoulder was wrenched backward at a painful angle._

_"Dan!" Green Eyes shouted, throwing his weight against the men, fighting, trying to reach him. Dan turned away from him as something heavy collided with his face-_

Dan jumped, waking up to a pounding heart, hair and skin damp with sweat. He laid perfectly still in his bed, listening to the rapid beat of his heart and his own ragged breathing, replaying the dream in his head. Slowly he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. His unseeing gaze focused on the carpet. _Just a dream_, he told himself. _It can't hurt you. It's not real_. Even as he thought it he knew it wasn't true. It was too real. It was another memory. The man that had been reaching out to him, it was the same man from the cafe.

Who was he? Who were the other men? And why had_ Dan_ been there? The riskiest thing he'd ever been involved with had been filming at night for Ben's first 'Becoming YouTube' video, and it hadn't been anything like that. Dan sat stone still on the bed, as if it would bring back more pieces of this twisted puzzle. Of course, it didn't.

Admitting defeat, he got out of bed, if for nothing else than to get something for the headache he felt gradually coming on. He pulled open the door and realized with a start that he'd woken up in Phil's room. Phil's _bed_. Dan bit his lip, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. They hadn't _done_ anything, and it wasn't the first time he'd slept in Phil's room, but last night had been different. Phil's arm around his waist as they'd fallen asleep, his breath on Dan's neck, the sleepy 'goodnight' they'd mumbled.

Dan didn't know what to think. He and Phil had never seen each other as anything more than best friends before. Were they still just friends? Or had something changed? _It's too early for this_, he thought. He was about to head downstairs when he heard a noise from the office. A mental image of someone breaking in came to mind, and after a moment's hesitation Dan went to investigate.

Phil was moving things around, setting up the camera they'd been using to film the videos for their gaming channel. Dan knocked on the doorframe, alerting his friend to his presence. Phil looked up, and when he saw Dan a grin lit up his face.

"Morning. Did I wake you?" Dan shook his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

"Oh. Um, well I was thinking last night, about everything, and I realized the fans don't know you're back yet." Dan blinked.

"Yeah?"

"So I thought, why not make a video? You know, to show them?" A voice in Dan's head was saying no. More than that, it was shouting _Bad idea!_ as loud as it could. Dan ignored it.

"Sure, that'd be great." He smiled. "What game?"

"The Sims? It's been years since the last one." Dan sat down at the desk.

"You didn't play it alone?" Phil shook his head.

"The Sims is a 'Dan-and-Phil' thing." Dan raked his fingers through his hair, attempting to sort it out. Hobbit hair. Ugh.

"The Sims it is then. Did you want to do it now?" Phil shook his head.

"We don't have to. I, um...I don't play video games in the morning, usually." He disappeared under the desk to check the wires. "Unless it rains." Dan frowned in thought. Phil had mentioned something the night before(after they'd been cuddled up on the couch for several hours). His 'new normal', he'd called it.

"What do you do in the morning then?"

"Go for a run." The sarcastic look Dan aimed his way was lost on the desk.

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Phil stood up. "There's coffee downstairs if you want it." Dan went to thank him but was cut off by a yawn. Phil smiled. "Why _are_ you up so early? I wasn't going to wake you today." Dan shrugged.

"I had a weird dream, I don't know."

"What about?" For a split second Dan considered telling him.

"Something about Pokemon, I don't really remember much." The lie rolled off his tongue as though it were second nature. Phil rolled his eyes.

"Nerd," he said over his shoulder, leaving Dan in the office. Dan felt his mouth quirk into a soft smile. _This_ was how things were supposed to be.

Now if he could just get rid of the headaches.

* * *

"If you start getting tired, let me know." Phil said as he stretched his legs.

"Trust me, you'll know."

"I'm serious, I can run for awhile now. I'm used to it, and you're not." Dan rolled his eyes.

"If my lungs start to bleed, I'll tell you. Happy?" Phil laughed, his tongue poking out of his mouth a bit. Dan felt his stomach flip. _What the heck?_

"Alright. Ready?" Dan nodded, and they were off.

It was still reasonably early, and few people were around. Phil started off jogging, then running. As Dan tried to match his pace, his mind began wandering. They were going to film the new Sims video that night, but Dan still wasn't sure how he felt about it. Filming gaming videos was always fun. He'd even argue they'd had _too_ much fun. But for some reason the thought of making a video didn't sound fun. He was put off the idea, but he couldn't really say why. It was just a gut feeling he had. _It's probably nerves_, he thought. With everything going on in his life as of late, it shouldn't be all that surprising. So it wasn't that he didn't _want_ to- he just had a feeling.

As time passed and they got further from home, Dan vaguely noticed he wasn't tired yet. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu came over him. The smell of rain and grass surrounded him, birdsong filling the air. It was only for a second, but Dan could almost _see_ it. Green hills that went on for miles-

"Dan! Slow down!" Phil gasped, breaking through his thoughts, and Dan turned to him.

"What's-" Phil wasn't next to him. He stopped, turning around to spot Phil a lot further behind than he'd have thought he was. His flatmate was bent over, hands on his knees and breathing heavily. Dan darted back to his side.

"Since when can you, run that fast?" Phil panted. His friend only blinked.

"I have no idea." He wasn't even winded.

"Maybe you've been secretly training for the Olympics," Phil laughed. Dan tried to ignore the knot in his stomach, faking a laugh. Had he been about to have another flashback?

"Maybe."

* * *

"You'd think you'd be in better shape, going for a run every morning." Dan commented as they climbed the stairs to their lounge.

"Not every morning," Phil admitted. "Just four days a week. I have work, and then the radio show and YouTube and all that." Dan frowned.

"What do you mean, you have work?"

"I didn't tell you, did I?" Phil realized, kicking off his shoes. "I have a proper job."

"_Why?_" Dan gaped, looking horrified.

"There's still bills to pay, living alone or not." Dan looked away.

"Oh." Phil shrugged it off.

"Hungry?"

"No, I'm good."

"Well if you want we could start filming now." He bit his lip, fighting the urge to change his mind.

"Lets do it."

* * *

"I'd like to introduce a very special guest..." Phil intoned later that evening. Dan attempted to sit up, accidentally catching his head on the desk with a loud bump. Phil burst into giggles.

"That _hurt_." Dan whined.

"Are you alright?"

"Pff. I think…"

Dil was right where they'd left him, sound asleep in a clown suit, safely tucked away in his house with the owl slide. Dan was surprised how relived he was to see something familiar.

"Look, he's still sleeping."

"Wake him up."

"But he's so peaceful," Phil complained. Dan shot the camera a look.

"Its been_ how long_ since the last video? He's been sleeping long enough! Wake him up!"

"Look, it's only been four hours though."

"Years, and he's still only like a month old in Sim years. I wish I was a Sim. I'd never age." He heaved a dramatic sigh. "So much of my life...passing by...so quick-" Phil clicked something.

"He's awake!"

They didn't play for very long, only about a half hour, but in that short time they quickly realized that Dil could probably take care of himself better than they could. After Dil went to bed, Phil paused the game.

"So Dan's back!" he announced cheerfully. Dan waved at the camera.

"Yep, existential crisis over and out! Lets just pray there won't be another one."

"Click subscribe to be told when we make a new video!"

"And check out our other channels and...stuff."

"Byyyyeee guys!" Phil grinned, waving enthusiastically. Dan switched the camera off.

"Well that was eventful." Phil chuckled.

"It could've been worse. Right, I'm starving. Do you want to order a pizza?" Dan nodded.

"Sure." And just like that, it was done. They'd had fun, and he was fine.

So then why were his hands shaking?


	6. Day 4

Phil was a terrible actor. Dan could tell by the way he kept fidgeting that he knew what time it was, and that it was making him nervous, but he was refusing to go. He bit his lip, glancing at the clock. If Phil didn't hurry up he was going to be late, and if he lost his job they'd be in a tight spot.

This was how Phil had been acting since they'd more or less made up. He didn't even like leaving Dan in a different room for too long. Though he didn't know why he was acting this way, Dan had humored his flatmate until now.

"Phil." He finally spoke up. Phil glanced at him. "It's almost ten." Phil nodded and sighed.

"I know. Are you..." He trailed off.

"What?" Dan looked up from his laptop. His flatmate frowned.

"Are you sure you'll be okay here, alone?"

"I'm a grown man, Phil. I think I'll manage."

"I don't like leaving you by yourself."

"I'll be fine." Phil didn't look convinced, but sighed in defeat.

"I'll be back soon. If you need anything, even if you just want to talk, call me, alright?" He nodded at the cheap temporary phone they'd bought.

"Okay," Dan rolled his eyes.

"And if anyone else comes round-"

"Don't let them in, I know _Mum_." Phil chuckled, both at Dan's sarcasm and his own nerves. Of course everything would be fine. He was just acting silly.

"Alright, I'm off. Bye Dan."

"Wait." Dan scrambled to get up, darting to Phil's side to wrap him in a hug. Phil squeezed him back. "Okay, _now_ you can go." Phil smiled, this time a real Phil smile, and left.

The sudden silence of the flat was deafening. Dan had been home alone before, so he should've been used to it. Everything was just so...still. After shuffling around on the couch for half an hour he gave in and tried putting on some music. He couldn't find anything he wanted to listen to, though, so he turned on Netflix. No matter what he did, the flat just felt too empty.

Dan knew he was in trouble when even tumblr seemed boring. He was restless. He even tried to sit down and edit the Sims video, but he couldn't concentrate. Every time he tried, he'd get that annoying-as-hell nagging sensation in the back of his mind, telling him he'd forgotten something.

Dan finally came to the conclusion that he was _not_, in fact, going to serve any kind of useful purpose today. The flat was just flat out unwelcoming, and if he were being honest he wanted a change of scenery anyway. The run they'd taken the morning before had been refreshing. And nobody ever said Dan couldn't go running on his own, right?

So, slipping into his 'urban ninja' getup(as he liked to think of it), Dan grabbed the cheap phone off the counter and left.

* * *

How he'd ended up here of all places, he'd never know. He definitely hadn't _planned_ on a spur-of-the-moment cat burglary. Once again he'd just started walking, not really paying attention where he was going, and suddenly found himself looking at the back of a dilapidated storage place. The back door was boarded up, as well as all of the windows on the first floor, but there was a large birch tree growing close enough that if someone really wanted to, they could climb in one of the broken second floor windows.

And apparently he really wanted to, because before he had really thought about what he was doing, he was halfway up the tree.

Having never been a fan of physical exercise or anything that required more work than walking across a room, Dan was at a loss for words. First he was suddenly used to running, and now tree-climbing was second nature? Dan rolled his eyes, shifting his foot to a higher branch. This was ridiculous. But he wasn't complaining- if he wasn't in shape then this probably wouldn't be possible.

The first thing Dan noticed as he climbed through the window was the layer of dust on everything. There were a few cardboard boxes stacked against walls or piled on the floor, but other than that and a few ceiling lamps the place was empty. Dan was standing in a narrow corridor, and to one side he could see a bathroom. Down the hall he found several rooms. There weren't many, and none of them had doors, or any type of furnishings. Most likely an office building or something like that, closed down and used for storage now.

One of them looked as though someone had tried to convert it into a kitchen and had abandon it mid-renovation. Half the floor was exposed particleboard, the tiled section cracked and broken, cabinet doors hanging on broken hinges. The wallpaper was faded and curling. There were initials and different slurs carved into the cabinets, as well as graffiti in spray paint and sharpie. Obviously the most abused room on the floor.

He turned to go leave, thinking that this had been a bad idea. A fool's errand. As he was leaving the toe of his shoe caught the raised edge of a tile, sending him stumbling forward into the doorframe-

_Five men, dressed in dark clothing stood around him, laughing at his clumsiness. One of them reached out to him, jerking him upright as another jeered,_

_"He can't even walk, what do you have him on?"_

The memory ended, a flash of familiarity, like a bulb blowing out. Dan gasped, spinning around. The room was still empty, the building abandon. But he knew. He'd been here before, had tripped on that damn tile before. He shut his eyes tight. Who were those men? The one that had reached out to him, there was something about him. It felt important, like if he could just remember his face, he could figure everything out. But all he could call to mind were his evergreen eyes.

Dan lingered awhile longer, hoping it would jog his memory, but nothing happened. It was just a dusty, empty flat. He explored a little, but there really wasn't much there. Daylight became muted as storm clouds gathered outside, and he decided it was time to go. As he started back toward the window he happened to glance into another room.

It was the room from his nightmare. The metal folding chair sat dead center, the scant light revealing an ominous brown stain. Shadows seemed to reach out to him, taunting and menacing. The voices of the strangers echoed in his mind. Dan swallowed, his mouth having gone dry. All of a sudden he didn't want to be here. He wanted very badly to _not_ be here.

He hastily climbed back out the window, breaking into a jog the moment his feet touched the ground.

* * *

Dan hadn't been running very long when it happened. The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up. A cold tingling sensation ran down his back, making him shiver in the warm sunlight.

Without even looking behind him, Dan turned down the next street. Instinct took over once again, directing him to slip into an alley and hide in the back doorway of one of the shops. He listened as the sound of footsteps came closer, barely breathing.

A shadow appeared on the ground beside him, and he moved. Dan darted behind the stranger and kicked him behind his knees as hard as he could. The man fell to the ground with a cry of surprise, and Dan grabbed the neckline of the jacket he was wearing, twisting it so that he had the upper hand.

"What do you want?" he demanded at the same time that the stranger yelped,

"Stop!" Dan froze. He knew that voice. He let go, stumbling backward.

"What the heck!" He shouted. "You gave me a heart attack!" Phil pulled his hood down, brushing the dirt from his jeans as he stood up.

"Sorry, I'm sorry-"

"You've been following me?!"

"Well...kind of?"

"Why!" Phil bit his lip.

"I...I know this is weird, I'm sorry Dan, I just..."

"Have you been there all day?" Dan asked, some of his irritation melting away.

"No. I got off work and I was coming home, and I saw you and...well..." He sighed. "I'm sorry." Something dawned on Dan.

"The other day when I left. You followed me then, too?" Phil looked embarrassed.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't going to...do something stupid. I didn't mean to stalk you, I just wanted to talk to you. But then, I don't know. I got curious I guess. And when I lost you, I kind of...panicked."

"Oh." Dan didn't know what else to say. Phil shook his head to fix his fringe. "I was just out for a run." The clouds had blocked out the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the smell of rain filling the air. Dan smiled at Phil, feeling more worn out than he had in a lifetime.

"Let's just go home, yeah?"

Dan had had more than enough exercise for one day, so they hailed a taxi. Not wanting the awkwardness to prevail, the moment the doors were closed Dan scooted over to sit close beside Phil. For awhile they rode in silence, save for the sound of raindrops hitting the windshield.

"I keep thinking that I'm going to turn around, and you won't be there." Phil said quietly, pulling his best friend from his thoughts. Dan moved to lean against him, resting his head on Phil's shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"But you don't know that, do you?" he sighed. "Anything could happen. You could get hit by a car or struck by a meteor or bit by a rabid squirrel and then what?" He turned and nestled his nose in Dan's hair, the earlier tension disappearing entirely. "I don't want to lose you again." Dan was quiet, thinking. While he admitted it was kind of an intrusion on his privacy that Phil had been following him, he wasn't upset about it. He'd been more surprised than anything. If their situations were reversed, he wouldn't want to leave Phil for a second, so he understood. "I _can't_ lose you again." Phil added in a whisper. Dan reached over, intertwining their fingers.

"I know."

* * *

"So have you remembered anything?" Phil asked later that evening. He'd made a stir fry, so Dan was doing the dishes. He paused, letting his hands soak in the hot water. He could tell Phil everything. Part of him wanted to, _so_ badly. Even if it wasn't adding up, maybe if he told Phil about Green Eyes and the pictures it would help him puzzle it out. He might even remember more.

He opened his mouth and the words froze in his throat.

"No. Nothing at all." He couldn't tell him. Not until he was sure they were both safe.

"Oh." Phil sounded disappointed. "Do you want to have Chris and PJ over tomorrow? Or we could go see Louise and Darcy? Maybe seeing our friends will help." Aside from when he'd first turned up, Dan hadn't seen anyone other than Phil.

"Sure. We can go out to dinner maybe."

"Are you finished yet?"

"Just about." He pulled the plug out of the sink. "What're you doing?"

"Editing the video." Phil closed his laptop when Dan came into the room. He sat down on the couch.

"Want to watch an animae?"

"Not really." Phil yawned, trying to hide it behind his hand.

"Tired?" He nodded.

"Someone phoned in sick today, so I was covering their shift."

"Why don't you finish this in your room?" Dan asked, nodding at the computer. "Bed's more comfortable." Phil tilted his head, considering it for a moment.

"Okay. Do you want to help? Normally you did the gaming channel videos."

"Uh...ok."

So that was how they'd ended up on Phil's bed. Phil had headphones on, and if he listened really hard Dan could hear the audio, but mostly there was just the sound of Phil clicking and the pitter-patter of rain.

Dan yawned, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. He'd been waking up early with Phil, and added to the physical exercise he'd done today, Dan was exhausted. He leaned back against the pillow. Phil would be finished soon. He'd just close his eyes for a few minutes…

* * *

Dan woke up around midnight, realizing immediately he had fallen asleep in Phil's bed. The lights were off, and somehow the sheets had been drawn over him. He could hear Phil breathing softly beside him. Their bodies were nearly touching, just barely enough space between them. Outside, the rain had turned from a light drizzle to a proper storm.

Phil probably just hadn't wanted to wake Dan up. He was such a light sleeper, it was a wonder he'd fallen asleep at all. The thunder was probably what woke him. He should go back to his own room. After all, Phil's bed was only really big enough for one person, unless they cuddled up to each other.

He pulled back the duvet, quietly moving to leave the bed. Phil reached out, clasping his fingers loosely around Dan's wrist. He whispered over the storm, voice husky with sleep.

"Stay."

So he did.

* * *

**_A**_/_N:** Have I redeemed myself from the last chapter?  
_****_Already Broken, LittleLizard13, and Bugga Bugga: Glad you liked the update, personally I think it's the worst cop-out I've done so far- my outline got misplaced :/ I can always go back and redo it, and hopefully this chapter made up for it- over 2,000 words.  
_****_Anyway, I was gone for so long because I had so much I was dealing with, but life seems to have calmed down once again, so I'm back with the story :)_**


	7. Day 5

A/N: T/w mention of drugs and a violent flashback.

* * *

"So I was thinking we'd go to the shops, just have a day out. PJ said he'd see us, maybe bring Chris, and Louise is going to try and meet up around noon." Phil's voice drifted from his bedroom. "How does that sound?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, that sounds...that's great." Phil paused in his editing.

"You alright?"

"Yeah! Fine, just, busy. You know." Dan said in what he hoped was a cheerful tone, whilst staring at the pile of socks in his lap.

That morning he'd been feeling strangely productive, which had led to him deciding to clean his room. Which had been going quite nicely, until now. Because behind his night table he'd found a pile of black socks, a single one crammed with over three hundred pounds. That on its own might not have been so alarming. Maybe he could've explained it away.

But he couldn't say the same for the plastic bag, full of tiny, unlabeled white pills.

After waging a mental war with himself over whether or not he should go to the police, Dan stuffed the bag in his pocket and went to the bathroom, where he quickly flushed the pills. The money he stashed deep in the back of his closet, in a backpack he never used. After this was done, he went back to tidying his room as if nothing had happened. He supposed he was acting strangely calm for someone that had just found what were probably drugs in their bedroom, but honestly? Dan didn't know how to react anymore.

Maybe that was why those men had beat him up. Did he owe them money? Drugs? Or was Green Eyes the one that owed them? A snatch of memory resurfaced. _"He can't even walk, what do you have him on?"_ Had he been on drugs? Dan's hand paused over the pile of recovered laundry. If he _had_ been on drugs, he'd have some kind of withdrawal symptoms by now. Right?

"Hey," Phil spoke up from behind him, his voice soft. Dan looked up. "You okay?" He opened his mouth to say yes. Changed his mind.

"I've got a headache," he admitted. Phil came into his room, pulling him into a hug.

"You want something for it?"

"This works." Phil chuckled, and Dan smiled.

"I don't know why you're doing all this. You know you can stay in my room." Phil offered. Dan felt the heat rising on his face.

"I can?"

"Mhmm." The slight stubble on Phil's chin scraped over Dan's neck, making him shiver.

"I just don't want moths and spiders nesting in my clothes. And dust." He pulled away to look at his flatmate. "You didn't have to keep all my crap you know." Phil shrugged.

"I didn't want to deal with it. If you hadn't come home PJ probably would've offered to go through it." Dan was sure he could spend the rest of his life trying to repay PJ and never manage it. "Nearly done?"

"I want to wash my sheets. You should do that every few years I hear."

"Well put them in the wash, and then we can go."

"Now?" He pulled off his duvet as Phil began pulling up the sheets.

"Why not? We haven't gone out in forever. Let's go get lunch."

"Like...just hanging out, or..." Phil paused.

"What do you mean?" Dan busied himself with stripping his pillows, briefly wondering if now was really the time to bring this up. He didn't see why not.

"It's just...I've been sleeping in your bed and...I mean we did that before and all, but it feels different now. Like, maybe not to you, but I just, I wanted to know if..." This was a bad idea. What if Phil was just so happy to have him back, that he just wanted to spend that much more time with Dan? What if none of it meant anything more to Phil? Dan was pulled from his panicked thoughts as his best friend brushed his fringe away from his eyes.

"If what?"

"Do you...I know we talked about it before and you didn't feel that way-"

"Neither did you."

"I know." Dan swallowed. He racked his brain, trying to think of a way to ask what he wanted, no, _needed_ to know. "I- do you- umm, could we maybe-" Phil reached over and took Dan's hands in his. Dan met his eyes, pools of blue he could lose himself in forever. Warm and familiar and safe and gentle and everything that made Dan think of home.

In the end Dan didn't ask. He didn't need to. Phil squeezed his hands, and that was the only answer he needed.

* * *

"Dan!" Louise's voice pulled Dan away from the menu he'd been reading. He stood up from the table as she came over, holding his arms out.

"Hi!" She hugged him tight, tighter than he'd normally be comfortable with, but under the circumstances he didn't mind.

"Don't you ever put us through something like that again!" She admonished, but it was half-hearted, the tears in her eyes happy ones. Dan shook his head.

"_Never_." he stressed. He noticed something. "Where's Darcy?"

"In school," was the quick reply, as though it should've been obvious. Dan was reminded of his lost time, but chose not to dwell on it. Instead he pulled out a chair for Louise as she gave Phil a hug as well.

"You're looking so much better," Dan heard her say quietly, her words meant only for Phil. Phil shrugged, but the smile was still there.

"We haven't ordered yet. Why don't you join us?"

"I'm a bit early, aren't I? Sorry, I was just so excited to see you again." She sat down, her curiosity plain on her face. "So...how is this...possible?" Dan picked at the curling plastic of the menu.

"Well, it's complicated. And I don't even know." They explained to her what the police suspected, and about Dan's amnesia. She gave him a pained look, squeezing his hand in an attempt to reassure him.

"Oh Dan," she said softly. He gave her a smile.

"It's alright. They didn't send me to prison, so they can't prove anything except that I'm still alive." He wondered briefly why they hadn't had any contact from the police. Shouldn't someone have followed up on him by now? Officer Warren had said someone would speak to him soon, but it had been days.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of PJ and Chris, who immediately grabbed Dan in a death grip hug. Dan pushed the police out of his mind, resolving to focus on his friends(and breathing).

And he tried. Really, he did. At one point Dan managed to forget his personal dark cloud, slipping into a playful sarcastic banter with PJ and making passing remarks about a new(and oddly suggestive) sculpture that had appeared in town during his absence. They spent the whole afternoon together, window shopping and talking, and just enjoying each other's company. But Dan was suddenly reminded of it's shadow when they walked into a restaurant that evening. The hair on his neck stood up, and by reflex he checked his surroundings.

_Watch out for that family of five, those children look homicidal_, he thought with a roll of his eyes. Could he not even go to dinner without feeling paranoid? The mental image of the hidden pictures surfaced in his mind. He felt uneasy. Was someone watching them right now?

"Dan?" He looked up at the sound of Phil's voice. His brow was creased, and he was looking at Dan closely. "Are you okay? Do you have another headache?" Dan nodded, though he hadn't noticed the ache behind his temples until Phil mentioned it.

"Just a little one. I'm fine."

"Cause we can go home if you want." That was probably a good idea.

"No, I'm alright." Dan was having fun. He hadn't spent this much time with his friends in a long time. Neither had Phil, and Dan hated the thought of ruining both their evenings just because he was a little jumpy.

"Are you sure?" Phil asked softly. "It's okay if you want to go."

"I don't. Really, Phil, I'm fine. My head just hurts a little, and it's probably just because I need to eat." He smiled at his best friend. "I want to stay." Phil smiled back.

"Okay."

"Oi, lovebirds!" Chris waved them to the table they'd been given. "Some time tonight?"

Whenever Dan hung out with his YouTube friends, they always had things to talk about. Current videos to the last awkward conversation they'd had with a cab driver, there was always something. Tonight was no exception. PJ and Louise had both published books in his absence, and Chris had gotten a small part in a movie. While they took turns filling him in, Phil held Dan's hand under the table. Louise caught a glimpse when Dan reached for his drink, but other than a knowing smirk she didn't comment.

"So what happened after we left Prague?" Dan finally asked. They'd all been side-stepping the memory issue, so he had worked up the nerve to bring it up. Chris shrugged as their waitress handed out their plates.

"Nothing special. Our flight back got delayed by five hours, but other than that nothing. Thanks." The waitress nodded. He turned back to Dan. "Why?"

"Just trying to remember." Chris frowned.

"Is that healthy?" he asked. "Isn't it dangerous to try and force yourself to remember things?"

"I think you're confusing amnesia with sleepwalking," PJ spoke up. "Memory loss has something to do with swelling in the brain; it's more of a physical problem. So you really _can't_ force anything."

"Did we do anything after we got back? Like, I don't know, did we meet any new people or something?" Out of the corner of his eye Dan saw Phil look up from his plate, but he didn't speak.

"No. Well, I didn't. I don't know about anyone else." Chris offered. PJ shook his head.

"I had three videos in the making, so I didn't really leave my house for the next few weeks."

"You should be careful, Dan." Louise added. "You can't make it any worse by trying to remember, but you could end up having false memories."

"What, like remembering it wrong?"

"No. What she means is, if you get desperate enough, your mind could start creating fake memories of things that didn't happen," PJ explained. Dan felt his stomach twist.

"Oh. Good to know." Their attention was drawn to their dinner, and Dan let the topic turn to the upcoming Summer in the City, lost in his own little world.

What if what he _thought_ were memories...weren't? What if Green Eyes wasn't real, just his broken mind trying to find an answer? What about the pills? His headache got a little worse.

* * *

"Phil?" Dan tapped on his door later that night.

"Come in." Dan pushed open the door to see Phil sitting on his bed, laptop open in front of him. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I thought you were watching TV."

"What're you doing?"

"Just editing the Dil video." He moved over, making space on the bed next to him. Dan took the invitation and crawled up beside him, resting his head against Phil's arm.

"How much longer?"

"It's almost done. I'll be finished with it tonight, and probably upload it in the morning." _Already?_ Dan thought, feeling panic rise in his gut. He thought that by the time it went up he wouldn't be worried about the video, but his anxiety was only growing.

"I need to talk to you," he said quietly. Phil turned to him.

"Okay," he said, the concern in his voice making Dan wince. He set aside his laptop, choosing instead to pull Dan closer to him. "What is it?"

"It's...it's about the video." Something shifted in Phil's eyes. Dan could almost _see_ a wall going up. Phil's thumb rubbed circles over the back of his hand.

"What about it?" He coaxed. Dan bit his lip.

"It's been a long time, and we already filmed it, and you did all the editing and I know you told the fans already. But I just, I don't think we should upload it." Phil's hands stopped. Dan could feel him tense up. "Not yet at least."

"Oh." Dan winced at the abrupt response. Phil stood up, moving to his desk. When he didn't say anything else, Dan swallowed.

"Can we just, not?" Phil threw down the cable he'd been handling, turning on him.

"Why not, Dan?" His voice was sharp, but his eyes were dull. "What is it now?" Dan gawked at him, trying to form a response.

"I just, I'm not comfortable with it." That did it.

"I had to get another job!" Phil shouted. "I had to pay the bills and put on a show for everyone! I had to handle all this on my own, do you think I was 'comfortable'? And meanwhile you're off doing who knows what, and now you're just 'not comfortable' with it? Well you should've thought about that before you became a YouTuber!" Dan glared back at him, letting his anger mask his shock, because since when did they fight?

"Don't yell at me!"

"I'll yell at you if I want to! You didn't do anything, I've done all the work and you just sat there!"

* * *

Dan didn't know how long it lasted. It could've been minutes, maybe an hour. Phil was right, he hadn't done any of the work. Maybe if he'd spoken up sooner, Phil wouldn't have gone off on him. It was too late now, though. Would've-could've-should've weren't going to get him anywhere.

Dan eventually went to bed, leaving Phil to do whatever he wanted. At half twelve the video showed up on his tumblr dash. Part of him, a very small part, was hurt that Phil had uploaded the video anyway. Dan pushed it down.

This was stupid, and he'd had enough. He was done with the whispers and the nagging feelings. He didn't have any real reason to be so anxious. Sure, some things didn't add up. But so what? Dan made up his mind that moment. He'd go to the police in the morning, tell them everything- after he apologized to Phil. Enough was enough.

Dan rebloged the video, then logged into his twitter to announce it as well. His at-replies imploded. Answering just a few became an hour, but he didn't mind. The fans wanted to know what he'd been doing, how he'd been, and really it was the happiest he'd been in nearly a week. This was his life, part of who he was. Phil was right, he'd just been procrastinating.

Before going to sleep Dan pulled out his cheap phone.

_To: Phil_

_U were right, can we stay in tomorrow?_

After a moment's hesitation Dan added a heart and mashed the send button before he could change his mind.

Not a second later he got a reply.

_From: Phil_

_Of course, I'm sorry_

And Dan smiled, because Phil added a heart too.

* * *

_Everything hurt. He didn't even want to breathe- he'd be perfectly content to just lay there and slowly fade out of existence._

_"He doesn't know anything!" It was **his** voice that pulled him back. He clung to that voice, his lifeline. "Just let him go." Even though he couldn't see him, Dan knew it was Green Eyes; he'd recognize the Irish accent anywhere. That he could hear it at all made his heart skip a beat, because it was only audible if he was scared._

_"See, now I find that hard to believe." Dan knew that voice too, but unlike Green Eyes', it made Dan's stomach lurch. There was a muffled grunt and what sounded like the legs of a chair clanging down on the tile. Dan forced his eyes open. The green-eyed man was sitting on a metal folding chair, blood trailing down the front of his shirt. His assailant wiped the blood from his knuckles, turning to signal one of the men. The light from the hall shone through his ear, where a large gague was, big enough to stick a pencil through._

_"You've got three days."_

_"I can't." Green Eyes' gaze flickered to Dan. "I need more time, I can do it I just need time. Just leave him out of this." Gauges narrowed his eyes._

_"...one week."_

_"I'll have it."_

_"I hope so." Gauges nodded at one of the men next to Dan. "Because I'd hate for you to have to live knowing his death is on your hands."_

_Someone grabbed him from behind and then he was being dragged out of the room. Green Eyes lunged at him, but Gauges blocked him. All Dan could hear was Green Eyes shouting his name, swearing and threatening and begging them to let him go._

_They dropped him on the floor, surrounding him. Kicking, punching, knocking him against the walls. Dan struggled to protect his head and neck, but the toe of a boot caught his temple._

_Everything was fuzzy and muffled, like he was underwater. He rolled onto his back, the edges of his vision darkening. The last thing he saw was the cheap ceiling lamp swinging overhead before the darkness overcame him._

* * *

**_A/N: I'd just like to take a second to say thAT THE TOTORO PLUSHIE THEY BOUGHT IN JAPAN FROM THE HAUL VID IS EXACTLY WHAT I PICTURED I'm done. This story is nearly done, only three or four more chapters to go. I would've updated Thursday, but it wasn't quite done yet. How did I do?_**


	8. Day 6

"I'm sorry," Dan whispered. Phil's eyes fluttered open again.

"Me too." His phone went off, the third time that morning.

"Do you have to go?" Dan asked, his voice bordering on whining. Phil nodded- he'd already pressed snooze twice.

"Yeah."

"You could quit." His mouth curved into a smile.

"I wish I could." Phil had to work today. Though he understood why it was necessary, Dan wasn't looking forward to spending another day alone.

Phil got out of bed. Dan recoiled from the cold air, bundling his duvet around him more tightly. Phil had come to his room last night, much to his relief. He didn't want to fight with Phil. He liked this- whatever 'this' was.

Dan must've dozed off, because the next thing he knew was that Phil was kneeling beside his bed so that they were at eye level, dressed and ready for work. He reached over to brush Dan's fringe away from his eyes.

"When I get back we'll do whatever you want. I'll bring you something for lunch, and it'll be just you and me." He said softly. "That sound good?"

"Sounds great." Dan said with a yawn. He blinked, and they were content to just sit there like that, gazing into each other's eyes. Phil's phone buzzed, rudely reminding him that he was in danger of being late. Dan pulled his duvet to his chin, hiding a shy smile.

"I should go."

"Okay."

"Good bye."

"Bye."

"Be back soon." He said, and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. He was out the door before Dan could react.

It was then that Dan felt it. An odd sense of dread clawing its way up his spine, chilling him to the bone and raising goosebumps on his skin. Almost as if he could sense some kind of impending doom. For a second he nearly jumped out of bed and ran after Phil. His stomach was twisting in that all-too-familiar way, a premonition that something was wrong. That he needed to be with Phil. _He'll be fine_,Dan told himself irritably as he rolled over, ready to go back to sleep. _Stop making up excuses to get excited. Phil is fine. He's safe._

But that feeling...

_Everything's fine._

* * *

Thunder rolled in the distance, almost blocking out the sound of his heart threatening to give out. Phil strained his ears, listening. He could hear it. Footsteps, heavy and slow. Searching. For him. Coming closer and closer to the bin he was crouched behind, hiding. Though he was afraid to even move, Phil fumbled for his mobile, only to find the pocket empty. He vaguely recalled someone bumping into him that morning- his phone had been stolen. Phil felt his heart skip a beat. What should he do? Risking a glance between the bin and the wall, he could see the dark figure coming closer.

On the more crowded streets, he hadn't noticed, but when he was halfway home it had begun to drizzle. Nearly everyone had gone indoors, except for Phil, who didn't really care if he got a little wet. He'd had a long morning, and all he wanted was to go home and be with Dan. He'd get there faster if he just walked through the storm. He wasn't that far, anyway.

Out of nowhere, someone had grabbed him by his hair and had shoved him face-first into a wall. Dazed, he'd somehow managed to get free, running for all he was worth, and now he was here, hiding behind a bin. With everyone else seeking shelter indoors, Phil could only pray someone had seen something, that they'd come to his rescue.

Heavy boots thudded closer. Phil shrank back from the ally, brushing against something. A glass bottle clinked dangerously against the asphalt. In a moment of desperation Phil grabbed it. What to do, what should he do? In movies and books people used broken bottles to stab people. Phil cringed; he couldn't do that. Instead he settled for the next best thing- a distraction.

Back pressed to the bin, Phil threw the bottle as hard as he could. He heard the glass shatter, and not a second later the dark figure that had followed him ran past his hiding place.

Several things happened at once. Phil jumped up, and in his haste to get away knocked over the bin. The dark figure turned toward him, realizing he'd been tricked. His assailant darted forward, arm over his head. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, glinting off a metal object clenched firmly in his fist. Phil opened his mouth to scream, beg, _something_-

_CRACK! CRACK!_

The stranger dropped to the ground like a stone. Scrambling away from the body, Phil watched in silent horror as another lightning strike revealed a growing puddle of blood, slowly pooling underneath the stranger.

"Sir, are you alright?" Phil looked up to see a man starting toward him, gun still drawn. His vision was starting to blur, a strange, cold feeling crawling up his neck. The world dipped and swayed, bringing on a wave of nausea. Phil felt someone take his arm. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to sit down."

"I...he..."

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

"He...my head..." For the life of him Phil couldn't put together a coherent sentence. His mind was whirling, his stomach threatening to do the same. What just happened?

The man was talking to him, but though he was standing less than a foot away from him, Phil could barely hear him. It sounded as if he was down a tunnel, and the other man was at the distant end, his voice muffled and distant. Something about an ambulance. Sitting down. Putting his head between his legs. Numbly, he obeyed, sitting down in the alley. He willed himself not to notice the blood mixing with the rain.

* * *

"Please, you have to let me see him!" Dan pleaded. The nurse gave him a sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the police aren't allowing anyone to visit Mr. Lester until they've had the chance to talk to him personally."

"You don't understand, I _have_ to see him." Dan stressed. "I'm his flatmate, I'm his emergency contact!" When she offered no other response, Dan sighed. "Can't you _at least_ tell him I'm here?" She hesitated, thinking it over, before she finally nodded yes.

"Please have a seat, and I'll call you as soon as they'll allow you in. I'll go tell him now."

"Thank you," Dan said wearily. She walked away, leaving him to himself.

Dan dropped onto the stiff couch, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. He hated hospitals, from the curt staff to the diseases he'd probably picked up just from signing his name on a visitor's sheet, but more than anything else he hated the _smell_. The pseudoclean smell of bleach that clung to the hair, clothes and skin of any and all who entered. It made him remember every single time he'd ever been to the hospital before. He hated it.

How could this have happened? To Phil, of all people? Phil was a good person. He could never do anything to deserve this. Dan had been making lunch when the hospital had called him. He'd been waiting for the door to swing open, for Phil to come home so they could spend the day together. And now...he'd known, somehow. That gut-wrenching feeling from that morning had returned out of nowhere. It had to be Phil. It just had to be. Unfortunately, he was right. Since when had he developed a sixth sense about these things? _Around the same time I started exercising, probably._

Footsteps on linoleum pulled him from his thoughts.

"And I don't suppose you'd know anything about this." Dan looked up to see Officer Warren standing over him. He shook his head.

"No, I was at home. Is he alright? What happened?" The officer held up a hand.

"He's a little bruised and quite shaken up, but he'll be alright. The man that attacked him was being followed by an undercover officer. Luckily for your friend." Dan shuddered. What if no one had been there? "Mr. Howell,I know that this must be a stressful time for you, but I have a few questions I'd like to ask you." Dan shrugged wearily.

"I'm not going anywhere." Officer Warren sat down next to him, laying the folder he was carrying on his lap.

"Mr. Howell, I'm about to show you a picture of the man who attacked Mr. Lester. He was DOA. Do you understand what that means?"

"Yes." Dead on arrival. Good riddance. Warren held out the picture.

Dark, soulless eyes stared up at him from the file. The picture had been taken after a previous arrest, and Dan surprised a shudder at the malicious glint in those eyes. By reflex his eyes went to the man's fist, expecting to see a heavy ring. There was only a pale patch of skin where the ring would've been. In his ears were gauges big enough to fit a pencil.

"Do you recognize this man?"

"No," Dan answered, even as a little voice in his head said yes. He could still hear his voice, taunting him, mocking him. _He can barely walk._

He should speak up, tell the truth. He wanted to. Phil had been attacked by this man, by one of the men from his terrible nightmares, and Dan just _knew_ it was somehow his fault. How could this be coincidence? And didn't Warren say there were others out there? Dan looked up from the picture. "No, I don't. Who is he?"

"He was a drug trafficker out on parole. His name is Vincent Carrillo, age thirty two. Given his history, I doubt he'd risk his parole just to nick someone's phone. Mr. Howell, does your friend have a drug problem?" The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Phil, using drugs?

"Of course not," Dan sputtered. "He'd never."

"Do you?"

"No." Another appraising look.

"If he'd been arrested, he'd have been sitting pretty with the rest of his mates by now." Dan's ears perked up.

"There were more of them?"

"Not with him, but we've been keeping tabs on this one. He belongs to a gang that was arrested for drug trafficking a few months back." That feeling again. That god-awful sensation that his memory was trying to surface, attempting to claw it's way to the forefront of his mind.

"Oh?" he commented, not wanting to seem interested. Warren nodded absently.

"Few of 'em got away. Got several in costody, but we need solid evidence before we can put them away. This one would've gotten booked for sure, thanks to what he did to your friend." He glanced at Dan. It was odd to him. Out of everyone in London, his suspect had to target Dan's flatmate. What were the chances? "He's got a record a mile long, but he's never mugged anyone before. Either this was his first attempt, or just the first time he'd been caught. But when our officer found your friend, his wallet was still on him, though no mobile was found. I'm assuming he had one?" Dan nodded.

"He had it when he left." Officer Warren nodded, then pulled a memo pad out of the pocket of his shirt.

"And what about your memories? Anything new?" Dan shook his head. He didn't want to tell anyone about the nightmares, especially now. Or the weird things he kept finding in his bedroom, for that matter.

"No. Nothing real. Fake things, things that couldn't have happened and don't make sense."

"Like?"

"Going places I've never been, doing things with my friends that they don't remember doing, getting a tattoo that I don't have."

"And you've talked to someone about this?"

"My friends."

"Why not a doctor?"

"When you sent me to the hospital after my friends took me to the police, I talked to someone there. It's normal." He left out that it wasn't exactly a doctor that told him that. Officer Warren frowned, but said nothing more.

"So far we haven't found anything that might shed any light on what happened to you, Mr. Howell. No financial issues, before this we didn't have your name on any records at the station, nothing. So it looks like you're free to go. But if anything comes up, come talk to me." Dan nodded his head, his mind going a million places at once. He was about to ask about Vincent's 'mates' when a nurse walked into the waiting room.

"The police are done talking with Mr. Lester. He's resting, but you can see him now. He asked for you." Dan jumped up.

"Where is he?"

* * *

The nurse led him to one of the many rooms, leaving him with an encouraging smile and a reminder to call her back if Phil needed anything. When Dan tapped on the door, he heard Phil call out, "Come in." He pushed the door open, and froze.

The entire right side of his face was bruised, black and blue splotches covering normally alabaster skin. His cheek was scraped as well, and there was dried blood around his swollen eye. The other one opened, and even in this pathetic state he offered a smile.

"Hey you." Dan sat down next to the bed, gripping one of Phil's hands in both of his.

"Oh god, Phil," he mumbled. The words 'I'm so sorry' were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them. "I should've gone with you. What the heck happened?" Phil shook his head, then cringed.

"Ow. I don't know. Everything happened so fast. He slammed my head into a wall." He winced. "I definitely remember that." Dan ran his thumb over the back of Phil's hand in small circles. Phil's eyes were unfocused, drifting from the wall to Dan and back again. Did they give him something for the pain? Was he that badly hurt? Or was Phil in shock? "Weird he didn't take my wallet, though. Just my phone." Phil sounded confused. Anyone else would've been. But to Dan, this presented panic, not curiosity. There was something nagging him at the back of his mind, something that wanted to run far, far away.

This wasn't just a mugging. The man had stolen Phil's phone before attacking him. Had he wanted Phil's wallet, he could've taken it, easily. There was no need for a man out on parole to risk being caught attacking someone. He'd been out to kill Phil, Dan was sure of it. The thought made him tremble.

"Dan?" Phil's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Are you okay?" He wanted to reassure his friend. He wanted to pretend he was fine, because Phil was the one in hospital, not him. Now wasn't the time to fall apart. He needed to be strong for Phil.

He couldn't help it. Dan laid his head on Phil's leg, and cried.

* * *

Dan didn't know whether Phil was in too much pain to notice his unusual silence, or if he _had _noticed and was just not mentioning it. Then again, he could also just be in shock from the whole ordeal. After all, he'd seen someone die today. That would leave anyone upset, and Phil was more sensitive than most people. Either way, the cab ride back to the flat was in deafening silence. Once they got home, all Phil wanted to do was take a shower, so while he was doing that Dan set about cleaning up the mess he'd abandon in the kitchen. They both ended up in Phil's bed again, and to Dan's surprise Phil drifted off quickly, his arm clasped loosely around Dan's waist.

Dan knew that if Phil woke up he'd probably want him there beside him, but he couldn't stay. For one thing it was near impossible to get comfortable tonight, which was odd because usually he could just curl up next to Phil and that was it. Maybe it had something to do with his anxious mind. He couldn't stop thinking- every time he closed his eyes he saw the mugshot, like a screencap from his nightmare. Every little noise was someone trying to sneak up the stairs. His heart beat a little faster at every pause between Phil's exhaling and inhaling. He was wired- there was no way he could sleep. He was fighting the urge to toss and turn, at the risk of waking up his flatmate. Guilt clenched his gut, and his eyes sprung open, staring listlessly into the dark void that was Phil's ceiling.

So when he was sure Phil was asleep, Dan carefully climbed out of bed, tiptoeing back to his room. Once the door was firmly shut, Dan stuffed some of the clothes lying about into the space between the door and the floor, then turned on the light. He sat down on his bed, head in his hands.

This was no coincidence, no accident. Phil had been specifically attacked, almost killed, and Dan knew he had something to do with it, _but what? _What had he done? What had he done wrong? Phil had been alone for three years and nothing like this had happened, so why now? Was Gauges somehow connected to Dan's amnesia? His eyes burned, tears blurring his vision. He grabbed a pillow and clutched it to his chest to muffle the sound of his sniffling. Dan was scared. He had no idea what had happened or what to do, only that something was very wrong, and that it was his fault. He didn't even know why- only that he felt it was. What to do, what to do...police? Leave, and hope the trouble followed him? That seemed like the best bet, but where could he go? He couldn't go to his family, not at the risk of putting them in danger. What could he do?

Dan laid down and switched off his lamp, content with the glow from the fairy lights. Little by little, his eyes drifted shut. Somehow, by some miracle, he fell asleep.

* * *

_Dan knew he was dreaming. Maybe it was the way his vision was just slightly blurry, like he was looking through a dirty window, and he couldn't really focus on anything. Unlike any dream he'd had before, though, he was hyper aware of what was happening, and try as he might he couldn't move. It was weird- he could see, hear, and feel what was going on, but had no control over his body. As if he were just a spectator._

_ Graffiti and broken tile. A single lamp hanging overhead, the flickering bulb casting yellow light on the walls. Voices he only sort of recognized. He knew where he was. The abandon warehouse he'd found the other day, except right now it wasn't so abandon._

_ They were surrounding him. Everything hurt, but he was blocking out the pain. He'd grown accustomed to it. Someone kicked him in the ribs, hard, and then finally the assault was over. He heard footsteps as people shuffled out of the room, and then he was alone. His head hurt, a throbbing pain just behind his eyes. Dan knew he needed to move, needed to get up, but he was so tired. He could fall asleep right here, and no one would notice him. Just as he was about to pass out, he heard someone run down the hall._

_"Dan?! Dan, are you here? Dan!" That voice. He knew that voice. Dan wanted to call out, but his body wouldn't obey. A muffled moan was all he could do. The footsteps got closer. "Where are you?! Dan-!" The footsteps froze in the doorway. "Oh my god." Footsteps approached him, and he felt someone moving him, lifting his shoulders from the floor and into their lap. "Dan? Dan, say something," the voice hissed urgently. All Dan wanted to do was go to sleep. A hand caught in his hair, pulling hard in an effort to keep him wake. "Talk to me." Slowly, he opened his eyes to see the blonde man sitting next to him, holding him up- green eyes wild with fear. Dan tried to speak, but instead coughed. Blood spattered the other man's shirt, but he ignored it._

_"L-Liam?"_

_"I'm here. Hang on, okay?" The man- Liam, apparently- pulled Dan's arm around his shoulders and stood up. The room, no the whole bloody world was spinning._

_"Oh god-"_

_"It's okay. You're gonna be alright."_

_"I'm gonna be sick."_

_"We have to go." The urgency in his voice terrified Dan. Something was wrong. Liam was never scared. He nodded, then groaned._

_"'Kay." He limped along beside the other man, and the rest of the way was a blur of lights and color. Finally, Liam was helping him to sit on something soft. Turning his head, Dan spotted the familiar neon sign across the street, glowing through the broken blinds. They were home._

_"How many fingers?" Liam asked as he held up his hand. Dan blinked._

_"…Three?"_

_"Christ." He could just barely make out the blonde leaving the dark room. "Stay awake, and don't move."_

_"Hmm." But the pillow was so soft…_

_"Talk to me. Tell me about Manchester."_

_"I liked it there. I knew where everything was, it was nice."_

_"Why'd you leave?" The fridge door opened and shut._

_"University. Moved closer."_

_"How long were you there?" He knew all this, of course._

_"I'm tired."_

_"Dan? Dan don't fall asleep, this is important." Liam was back in the room, dabbing at his head with something cold. It stung, badly, and Dan realized he was probably bleeding. "Tell me, uh, tell me about…Phil! Talk about Phil, okay? How'd you meet him?" At the mention of Phil's name, his vision became clearer. He was able to push away the urge to sleep. When he spoke his speech wasn't slurred._

_"Party. Friend introduced us." A sharp pain shot through him, for once having nothing to do with his physical state. Phil's oddly colored eyes, the way he covered his mouth when he laughed, his weird animal noises. Silly, kind, amazing Phil. "He hates cheese."_

_"You hate tomatoes."_

_"Well yeah but who could hate cheese?"_

_"Apparently he does."_

_"Weirdo." Llama and lion hats, Vidcon and Playlist Live, hanging out with Chris and PJ. Making videos together. Walking in on Phil pigging out on Dan's cereal. Watching animae together. Phil screaming his name and freezing cold water-_

_"Dan?" The brunette blinked, realizing he had tears running down his face. It felt like a lifetime ago. And it still hurt._

_"Sorry," he whispered back._

_"I'll wake you up in a little bit, alright?" Dan mumbled a response, all too glad to let sleep overcome him. If he was lucky, maybe he'd see Phil in his dreams…_

_ He wasn't sure how long it had been. Liam had woken him up what he would assume was every two hours since they'd gotten back, but through the window the sky was tinged with the blue-gray of predawn. Liam was lying next to him, sound asleep. Dan was still exhausted, and had no idea why he was awake. Sleep was nice. Sleep was good._

_ Then he heard it. There was a noise. Loud enough he could pick it out, but faint enough that he wondered how it had woken him up. A scratching sound, almost like when they'd had rats that one time. Dan sat up on the bed, blinking to clear his eyes. Was it mice? No...it was different. More defined. Dan stood up, moving toward the sound. It wasn't in the bedroom. Not the kitchen._

_ The lounge. The door. The lock._

_ Dan bolted back into the bedroom, clamping his hand over Liam's mouth. Green eyes sprang open, hand going for the gun hidden between the headboard and the wall._

_"Shamrock." Dan hissed. Liam froze. Dan moved for the window, and they'd just managed to get it open when the lock in the door clicked open. Dan was out first, then Liam. Dropping to the roof one floor below. Scrambling down a drainage pipe and a fence. Sprinting down an alley. A hanging flower pot shattered right next to Dan's head._

_ They ran. Dan struggled to keep his balance, staying right on Liam's tail. The wove between streets, hopped fences, dodged through traffic, but still their pursuers kept up. Liam led him behind a shady restaurant, and they climbed a mountain of wooden pallets to get to the roof. Not missing a beat, they darted across, and over the adjacent building._

_ Early morning dew slicked the tiles. He slipped. His hands were grasping madly for a hold, and he was sliding._

_"Dan!" Green Eyes grabbed at him, but it was too late. He was falling. His head met the ground with a sickening thud. The world was spinning, whirling, blurring, and then...nothing._

_**CRACK**._

"Liam!"

Dan jolted awake, only to be met with a splitting headache. His breath came in short gasps, his hair and skin damp with sweat, and he couldn't care less because _he remembered_. It was flooding back, every moment he'd lost suddenly back in place, the questions he'd been so tortured by gone, the answers at his fingertips. He remembered everything.

And he was terrified.

* * *

**_A/N: Dun dun DUN. 0.0 Okay guys, do you wanna know what the ever loving fluff is going on, or charge ahead with the plot?  
_****_Sorry I've been MIA for so long, a lot's happened to me lately. I've got some updates for my series, but they probably won't be finished for awhile. Reviews are love- gimme some!  
_****_And special thanks to LittleLizard13 for the shout out in her last chapter of 'Obsession', can't wait for the next one! Both our mysteries are drawing to a close..._**


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